


everything that I've done

by threeonelead (Pbgrpy)



Category: Basketball RPF
Genre: Gen, Songfic, warriors ensemble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pbgrpy/pseuds/threeonelead
Summary: He looks over at Kevin's old locker, which the rookie has now, and remembers late-night shooting sessions and phone calls and sitting out on the balcony of Kevin's condo and looking over the city like kings. It's like the wound has been torn open again with a rusted knife.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Feelings dump about KD and Russ's friendship. The song is Hello by Adele.

_Hello, it's me_

He finds out on twitter, just like everybody else does. Knowing it was going to happen doesn't make it feel less like he's been punched in the stomach- or is that stabbed in the back?

_I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet_

It's weird when Kevin isn't at his 4th of July party. It's weird when he shows up to the practice facility for the first time and he's not there. It shouldn't be weird, but it is.

_To go over everything_

He gets it. He probably would have been mad if Kevin had come back to OKC after getting the offer of a lifetime. He doesn't really know what he would have done in Kevin's position, but when he thinks about it late at night, he kind of does.

_They say time's supposed to heal you_

It hurts less and less, he thinks, every time he sees Kevin in that jersey, the one that had ended their chances last year.

_But I ain't done much healing_

But then he looks over at Kevin's old locker, which the rookie has now, and remembers late-night shooting sessions and phone calls and sitting out on the balcony of Kevin's condo and looking over the city like kings. It's like the wound has been torn open again with a rusted knife.

* * *

_Hello, can you hear me_

Kevin texted him once after he told Golden State he'd sign with them. He still checks his phone every night to see if Russell has responded, even though he knows there will be nothing there.

_I'm in California dreaming about who we used to be_

Kevin's happy in Oakland. He really, really is. The team is selfless, and functional, and well-coached, and he sees how they won 73 games last year. Steph is kind and his basketball is transcendental, Coach Kerr is fiery and smart and tough, Klay is snarky and funny and competitive, Dray is intense and compassionate and wild in a different way than Russell is. When Draymond drives to the basket and rips the ball out of the air, he knows he has a whole team behind him, Steph and Klay and Kevin to support him, help him shine and make up for his mistakes. Russell had always felt like he had to do it on his own. Kevin thought he was able to change that, that Russell started to trust him, started to let Kevin into his orbit, a galaxy of twin stars. And then Kevin left.  
He's happy here, in his house on the Bay, when the fog comes down in the mornings and leaves everything cool and soft, when he sees people going to work and building the literal future a few miles away from where he gets paid to play basketball. He's happy at the beach, with a wide expanse of ocean in front of him. He sometimes wonders if this was inevitable, if it would ever have worked out in Oklahoma City.

_When we were younger, and free_

Sometimes he thinks about sitting on his balcony with Russell, the warm desert night winds stirring their clothes and Kevin's plants. Russell would look at him under the glittering Oklahoma City lights and say, you and me, we're going to show them, we're going to win it all, together. Kevin would look right back and say, we're going to be the kings of this city, the wind carrying away his lies. 

_I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet_

It wasn't even a lie when he said it. They were going to do it together, the All-Star games, the championships, retirement, Hall of Fame inductions. Entering his free agency year, Kevin looked around the locker room, and something clicked inside of him that said, "This isn't going to happen, not with these people in this place." He knew it was true, but every time he looked at Russell, fierce, powerful, unbreakable, indomitable Russell, he thought, "Maybe it could," because it was impossible to imagine Russell not being enough. Being close to him, to his fire, made you think that he could do just about anything with sheer willpower. Kevin admitted to Russell one night that he was considering hearing from other teams after the season, and Russell didn't talk to him for a week. They didn't speak, and the Thunder lost games, and Kevin made up his mind. 

Still, sometimes Kevin would look over at Russell doing postgame questions after a particularly authoritative triple-double game and think, Maybe. Even now, he sees a highlight of Russell jumping up three feet above the rim and slamming the ball down, and thinks, What if. 

_There's such a difference between us, and a million miles_

Kevin goes out to hipster bars after games with Klay. Russell does his postgame questions and goes home to Nina. 

_Hello from the other side_

Kevin still pulls up Russell's contact before he goes to sleep after games, a habit left over from the years of late night calls. It's happening less often, but still more than it should. He wonders if Russell's doing the same thing.

_I must have called a thousand times_

Russell pulls up Kevin's contact, scrolls through their texts. He could call, and talk about his crappy shooting at practice today, the golden retriever he saw after practice, the new outfits he got from Barneys. Kevin might pick up, reassure him that his shooting isn't getting worse, encourage him to get a dog, laugh at the purple and orange combination on the pants he was sent.

Or he might not pick up.

Russell doesn't call. 

_Hello, how are you?_

The Thunder play Golden State, Russell on one bench and Kevin on the other. Golden State is patient, methodically obliterating OKC's first quarter lead. Russell is painfully aware he's off his game, taking more ill-advised jumpers than usual and making stupid decisions with the ball. Kevin's lighting it up on his side of the floor. There's a moment in the middle of the second quarter when Golden State's waiting to pass the ball inbounds after a timeout. Russell's guarding Kevin, and their eyes meet, for just a minute. Words rush to Russell's throat, clogging it up so that none of them make it out; words like  _I'm sorry_ and _I'm glad you're happy_ and  _Come back to me_. Eventually, Curry inbounds the ball, Kevin to Andre to Klay for 3. 41-34 Golden State, and 122-96 by the end of the game. 37 points for Kevin, 20 points on 27% shooting with 6 turnovers for Russell. 

_Did you ever make it out of that town where nothing ever happened?_

Kevin's riding on the post-win high in the Warriors' locker room, his cloud deflated slightly each time a reporter asks him about Russell (which is far too much, but he knows the media has to manufacture some kind of drama for the public). He knows Russell was off tonight, taking irresponsible shots and taking fouls, trying to do it all alone. When Kevin was on the Thunder, he used to be able to shoulder some of the burden whenever Russell got like this, he was able to calm him down a little and run the offense while Russell got his shot under control. And now, Russell's alone. He hopes, for Russell's sake and his own, the other 4 players on the Thunder floor can step up and fill some of the space Kevin left behind. Even when he's out with the team after the game, something in his chest twists when he thinks of Russell sitting alone on his balcony.

_Hello from the other side, at least I can say that I've tried_

The season moves along. Russell's back in form soon enough, and Kevin and the Warriors are rolling. Kevin hears about Russell's Oklahoma Hall of Fame induction, remembers how he said he would be there last year at his own induction. He sits on his bed for a full thirty minutes that day holding his phone, talking himself into leaving a message for Russell and then talking himself out of it. One day, after the All Star game, after the playoffs, maybe after Russell gets MVP for this season, Kevin's going to call, and he's going to say everything he's been dying to tell Russell for months. One day, he promises himself, and tosses his phone into his duffel and goes to get changed for practice.

_It clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore_

Russell stands on his balcony, the dry wind sweeping over him just like it did on a different balcony months ago. Oklahoma City spreads out in front of him. He thinks about what Michael Jordan (Michael Jordan!) said about loyalty. He feels a pull under his ribs, telling him that this is home for him, that he better do his best to build something great. His phone buzzes with a text and he absentmindedly pulls it up, almost dropping the phone when he sees it's from Kevin. It says _C_ _ongrats on the induction._ Russell is hit with a wave of feeling, which he realizes is affection, mixed with a good part of overwhelming relief. He types out seven different responses, before settling on _T_ _hanks bro. Hope all is well_. Kevin responds almost instantly: _I_ _t is. Same to you._ Russell reads the text three times, the fear and restlessness that has been living in the back of his mind for the last 4 months fading a little each time.

When Nina texts him saying she's home, Russell straightens himself up from where he's been leaning and goes back into his apartment, feeling grounded like he hasn't for years. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/NBAonTNT/status/794192431780462596).


End file.
